


The perfect coat

by ObjectivlyOli



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eustace Carylye is a dick, I dont know what to tag this cus this is my first online fic, I wrote the majority of this while half asleep, M/M, Phillip centric with some P.T on the side, Phillip is having a really rough time, Phillips POV, Pretty depressing honestly, Suicidal Phillip, Suicidal Thoughts, lots of Phillip angst, mentions of abuse so if that triggers you, not explicit, pretty gay, then this is probably not the fic for you, too much introspection about colors and coats, vague mention of molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:18:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectivlyOli/pseuds/ObjectivlyOli
Summary: Phillip is grey, in fact, everything in his life was grey until a man in bright colors appeared and took him by the hand.





	The perfect coat

**Author's Note:**

> Note, I do not own any of these characters or the movie, I just wanted to write about them, leave a kudo if you like the story, happy (or angsty as the case may be) reading!!

“Phillip Carlyle, playwright or drunken child?”

That’s what the papers said at first, when his name became household, his drinking wasn’t a secret, no, he shared champagne more times than he could count, laughing and socializing in a perfectly practiced routine.

He never minded those headlines.

But a few drinks too many and words were spilling out like money from an old ladies purse, each sentence costing him more than he could ever repay.  
“Eustace Carlyle arrested” 

The words were typed in thick bold letters, blasted across every newspaper in the region.

“Mr Carlyle was arrested after first hand accounts of beatings and verbal attacks on his son were published in disturbing detail last week, the police chief gave his statement yeste-”

Phillip stopped reading, feeling nauseous, all of his secrets, aired to the world, not like they’d really been hidden before, but it was different for it to have been said, to have been printed.

“-started drinking at the age of thirteen, graduating to harder alcohols by the time he was fourteen, he was hospitalized for alcohol poisoning during his sixteenth birthda-”  
Everyone would know, sooner or later, the sad truth about him.

The rich boy given everything, including abuse and suffering, the kid who others envied for his inheritance and looked up too for his kindness, defiled, abused by his own father, reduced to tears and sniffling more days than he could count.

A true scandal, that’s what everyone was saying.

He tossed the paper out, not wanting to see his shame written out.

There was a lake nearby, one he’d always liked, he use to try and fish using a stick and some string, fancifully dreaming of being a sailor and exploring the world.  
He never caught any fish, but the lake was still his favorite place.

There was a coat he liked too, thick and soft, one of the more expensive pieces he own, tailored to his body, a nice grey color that made his eyes seem even more blue, like tiny oceans, as if they could overflow and drown the world around him in all that cyan misery.

But Phillip didn’t cry now, he hadn’t for a long time.

He grabbed the cufflinks he normally wore, clipping them in place, finding the watch he’d bought himself only a month earlier, it was pretty, he thought, his skin pales in comparison to the watch, the shiny silver metal, the stones set into its face, no, his skin could not keep up with it.

Then it was the scarf, the one who his best friend had given him, deep blue and covered in small embroidered stars, his mother said it was too feminine, but he loved it too much to give it up.

He put the scarf on, adjusting it and inspecting his reflection, suitably fancy, he looked handsome even, it was like something he’d wear to a party, if he still went to those, it was arguably a perfect outfit.

It made him seem flawless, between the blue in his eyes and stars on his scarf, unbreakable, untouchable, the kind of person that crowds would part for.

He started off towards the lake, hands trapped inside his pockets.

It was as lovely as he remembered, the air chilly but not quite cold enough to freeze it over, just adding a foggy mist to the ground, the familiar rocks and trees peeking up, the water so smooth and unbroken that it would be a crime to drop a rock in there.

Phillip stared, looking at the lake, eyes wide and echoing the water before him, it was the perfect place, like his coat, like everything about his outfit.

It was perfect.

Except he couldn’t make his feet move, couldn’t force himself to walk into that cold inviting water, to break the stillness, to truly connect with it as he’d thought of doing so many times before, to drown his sorrows in water that didn’t burn on its way down.

The perfect coat was suffocating, stifling his movements, it kept him rooted to the spot, staring at where he wished to disappear, where he had planned to disappear.  
It stayed silent there, just a faint whistle of the breeze disrupting the moment.

The water was clear and cold and just so willing to swallow him up and yet his stubborn feet started to lead him away, back to a grey house, with white walls and nothing but regret to fill up the empty space.

Phillip Carlyle arrived late to a lonely supper, nose red, eyes looking raw despite not crying.

The grey coat found it’s way back into the closet, waiting for another day, another walk, where maybe his feet would carry him further.

The next play he wrote was dark and dismal, the critics loved it.

Before he could catch a breath from writing, the headlines shifted again, taking him in a whole new direction.

“Phillip Carlyle, the best playwright?”

Wave after wave of positive reviews came in, all coming to the same point, it was raw, it was daring, they loved it.

Phillip thought it was the worst play he’d written, the dialogue sloppy, the characters half assed, it wasn’t raw, it was virtually unedited, it wasn’t daring, it was sad and didn’t try to hide it, but it had gained popularity and so had he.

“Carlyle, the playwright who overcame adversity.”

The parties started again, for the success of the play and for the world to meet Phillip Carlyle, to stare at him, because that’s what this was really about.

It had only taken one promotional event to realize that.

Everyone stared at him, was looking at him, inspecting him and looking for signs of abuse, for the marks of perversion his father had left on him, like if they looked hard enough they could see his life story, morbid curiosity urging them on.

Phillip choose to play with them, keeping his mask of being completely, adamantly, boringly, ordinary.

In public a black coat found it’s home on his shoulders, shrouding him, protecting him with it’s emptiness, the red hat and scarf he wore was a statement, a symbol that he was not afraid of their stares.

It worked for the most part, even if his mother still showed up to his plays sometimes, disappointment in her eyes.

The critics never caught on to that, luckily, otherwise they would have a field day.

His grey coat remained his home coat, guiding him from his house to the lake on a regular basis, the need to sink in to the water almost unbearable, because all there was, was grey and blue, whenever he woke up, grey and blue.

You wouldn’t think that the color of the ocean and stony mountains would make one claustrophobic, but it did for Phillip.

The confines of color and his lifestyle was only leading him closer to the edge.

The tips of his shoes got wet one day and when he went home, he wrote out a note, wanting to leave something behind when the day finally came.

The next play he wrote was a romance, something disgustingly predictable, with only one twist to the entire story, a child could have wrote it.

And yet the crowds came, money pouring in from the ridiculous play.  
“Carlyle produces another hit!”

That headline actually made him laugh, about to throw the paper out without even finishing it, but then a different story piqued his curiosity “Barnum Circus sparks controversy.”  
It was... fascinating?

Apparently the man, Barnum, had grouped together misfits, given them a place to not only live in peace to to perform and be seen as his equals, it was… awe inspiring, showing them off as his wonders, as something amazing and unseen before, something truly special.

That was daring, Phillip thought.

More and more the name popped up, through banquets and parties, the talk of Barnum and his circus passed around, it appeared in business conversation and in papers, it was everywhere, a sensation.

His mother called it a disgrace when he visited, claiming the man was a fraud and a purveyor of cripples and spooks.

Phillip had wanted to argue, but he was simply too tired, instead drinking his brandy and leaving.

The lake was even more peaceful and disconnected at night, like a world of it’s own and this time, Phillip found himself slumped on it’s bank, a fresh bottle in his hand, eyes trying to water as he thought back to being a kid, to dreaming of escape and not realizing how futile that was.

The name Carlyle would follow him everywhere, like the headlines and rumors.

When he woke up, curled next to the water, his fingers dipped into the cool liquid, he made a decision.

One week, that would give him time.

In reality it flew by, after shows and letters, money handling and preparing, even going to some dance recital that a bunch of highbrows kids were in, it seemed like there was no time left in the world and he liked that.

He was just tired now.

The grey coat was laid out on his chair, the scarf and all the other parts waiting for him.

Phillip threw on his cream vest, a matching bowtie falling into place, signature black and red armor on, he was ready.

The show was just as boring as he remembered it when he wrote it, yet he stayed for the entire show, even after, waiting outside and drinking from a flask, silently thinking of what the morning held for him.

It was then that something amazing happened.

A man, the man, Barnum, as he was introduced, appeared, a certain quality to him that captivated Phillip the moment he laid eyes on the man, maybe it was the warmth on his cheeks, or the auburn notes in his hair, or more mystifying, the gold flecks in his eyes, but whatever it was, he was intrigued.

Barnum, Phineas, had invited him for drinks and he found himself agreeing, following the happy man in a daze.

Phillip watched how the man moved, his confident stride, how he talked like everything was important, his hands waving, eyes full of light as he explained what he was doing with the show now.

Where Phillip was reserved and snarky, Phineas was optimistic and quick-witted.

That was when the negotiation started, this was more what he was used too, people trying to get things from him, in this case, it seemed to be advise on the upper class.  
Phillip tried to warn him about how suffocating they were.

But Phineas was not deterred, in fact he seemed to like that, smiling with a glow that could rival the sun “So come join the circus, you clearly have a flair for show business, teach me how to appeal to the highbrow.” he offered, not seeming to realize what he was really offering.

“Are you serious?” Phillip asked, scoffing slightly.

Phineas only smiled wider “Mm-hmm.”

Phillip wanted to sigh, because he was interested in the circus “Mr. Barnum, I can't just run off and join the circus.”

“Why not, sounds thrilling, doesn't it?” Phineas said, eyes crinkled around the edges.

 

Phillip knew then that he would take the offer, even if he didn’t say it, but there was something so magnetic about the man, about how everything was a show for him, even this was a show to him, a dramatic dance of negotiation “Let's just say that I find it much more comfortable admiring your show from afar.” he said, testing the water, heart thudding loudly.

“Comfort, the enemy of progress.” Phineas said quickly, like he had that memorized just for occasions like this.

“Do you understand that just associating with you could cost me my inheritance.” Phillip asked, looking at the impossible man in front of him.

Phineas beamed, tapping for the bartender to get them shots “Oh it could cost you a lot more than that, you'd be risking everything. But on the other hand, well, you might just find yourself a free man.”

It sounded like a promise.

That prompted what had to be one of the most enthralling performances he’d ever seen, Phineas leaping around, the turquoise vest catching the light just right and making him look like a peacock, offering a place within the outcasts, a home without walls to stifle him.

Phillip couldn’t keep himself from singing along, arguing slightly, feeling like this was the moment his life was either to be destroyed or begin anew and he found he didn’t really care which it was anymore.

When their words finally ended, a bargain having been made, Phillip found he would indeed pay to see Barnum again, if not for the deep baritone than for the absolute delight the showman seemed to take in that act of singing and dancing itself.

For some reason, Barnum thought bringing a slightly drunk Phillip to the show was a good idea.

It was all so overwhelming, having never been before he had only the papers descriptions to go by, everyone was larger than life, or smaller in Charles’ case, fire and color and a hope in the air that left him breathless.

Phineas fit in perfectly, his bold voice and words rounding the others up, introducing his new business partner.

For the first time in a long time, Phillip found his perfect mask, the red he wore didn’t feel like a protection, it felt cheap, like a lie.

Everyone was honest and brave, wearing golds and red, pink even, colors he’d never recalled seeing in clothing before draped across an array of skin tones, accenting and blending, fitting in despite being a masterpiece on their own.

Phillip wanted to take it off, to wear something more true, but he knew it wasn’t what would sell, not with all this vibrancy.

The performers seemed to see through him to an extent.

One even going as far as to call his bluff when he said he didn’t have an act “Everyone has an act.” she said, eyes flickering over him, judging like so many had.

Phineas hadn’t reacted at all, simply guiding him to where his office was, showing off the small place proudly.

This could be the best thing that ever happened to him, or the worst.

Seeing Phineas perform was a thing of magic, his attitude, his love of performing, resplendent in red and gold.

It made Phillip feel plain in comparison, but he kind of loved that, not being the center of attention, of gossip, he had hidden away, yet remained in view.

His name at first was smeared in the upper class world and revered in the middle and lower, seen as a disgrace, a wagtail, or heralded as the change the world needed, but as the weeks went on, the name Carlyle didn’t make the pages anymore.

In fact, he was barely called that now, everyone just called him Phillip now.

The grey coat had been retired to his closet and he instead wore a black suit with shades of blue that brought out his eyes, that made him feel more honest, more truthful in his representation of himself.

When the people around you wore their hearts on their sleeves, colors painting their skin, it was hard not to want to join in.

The world of walls he had built had been broken down, torn to shreds by the man who wore crimson like it was made for him, which it might just have been, his comfortable, miserable life left behind for this, intrigue and joy, open doors and laughter.

It was a breath of life for a dying man.

Then Jenny Lind happened, her sweet voice seeping into Phineas’ mind, the idea that he could have what he had always wanted, to be loved, to be accepted by the world, his need for that took him over.

Phillip struggled under the pressure when Phineas left, he was the ringmaster now, but he just didn’t have the same energy.

Lettie tried to help, hell, everyone did, but the fact of the matter was, you couldn’t shove a pigeon in the place of a cardinal and pretend it was the same.

Not to mention that everyone was pissed at Barnum, a slight camaraderie forming with everyone in the circus.

Phillip wore the red and tried to like it, to put on the shows they wanted to see.

But the fact was, the star, their cardinal, had ran off with the Swedish songbird on some personal quest for acceptance that put everyone else in jeopardy.

He found himself wearing the grey coat again, not even just to the lake anymore, it felt comforting to have the woolen weight keeping him anchored, the note stuffed in it’s breast pocket burning a hole through him.

Nothing could seem to make him smile anymore, not Lettie or Anne, even the girls when Charity brought them by, the closest he got was an upturn of lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

The letters he sent to Barnum didn’t do any good, receiving half assed reasons why he had to stay on the tour.

It felt like betrayal, to everyone involved.

The protests started getting worse, louder, now that he was the main man, the focus was back on him, on bringing him down.

The signs they held carried vile words and insinuations that made Phillips stomach do flips.

He spent the night at the lake after one particularly bad protest, cheek bruised from a punch, words rattling around his head, the way the men had leered at him, talked of what they read in the papers, spat words that his father had said right back at him.

W.D hadn’t let them get away with it, had knocked the man who lead the charge flat on his ass in one punch.  
It was appreciated, but it just meant another headline.

The rocks weren’t comfortable and it was cold enough that Phillip caught a cold, sniffling his way through the next couple shows.

Phillip may have been glad to be rid of the grey, but he didn’t think he liked red much either.

The fire was red too.

Burning with it, oranges and gold so familiar, but he had a purpose in here, a reason to fight his way through the pain and ash.

Anne, beautiful, syrupy pink Anne, was somewhere in the mess of timber and embers.

The ceiling started caving in, of all the ways Phillip had thought he would die, in a fire trying to save a friend was not how he envisioned it, he didn’t think he would make it out, but he at least wouldn’t let her die alone, he fought his way around a beam, seeing a wave of flames and then nothingness clouded over him.

There was something cool on his face momentarily waking him, he blinked his surprisingly heavy eyelids open, seeing the warm brown tones of familiar curly hair and thinking this must be some heat mirage.

Before he could question it, the blackness took over again.

The white of hospital was blinding, his side stinging, eyes raw as he tried to open them and look around, there was something on his head and he wanted to touch it, but his arms felt so weak he didn’t try to lift them.

Anne’s face swam into view, her hands clutching one of his.

Phillip felt his eyes well up, tears actually falling for the first time in years, the relief at his friend being alive enough to make him sob slightly.

Anne was a wonderful nurse, helping to dry his tears and telling him about his injuries, her thanks hovering around them unnecessary, she explained what happened, about Phineas throwing himself into a fire to save his junior partner, of the circus burning down.

It was shocking to find out he was cared for enough that Barnum would dive into a fire after him, that Anne would sit by his side for days waiting for him to wake up.

A couple months ago if he’d been told these things he would have laughed, not believing them in the least, either because he didn’t think he’d still be alive, or because he didn’t think anyone would care for him like that.

It only made his tears fall harder, breaths rasping out through smoke scorched lungs.

Anne stayed for the whole day, keeping him company and distracting him from the pain in his side, quietly regaling him with tales of how she had met all the others and other humorous things she’d seen.

It made the white of the hospital less cold, her infection pink warmth blending around him and lulling him into sleep.

By the next morning the entire circus was piling into the small hospital, intent on seeing their friend, making sure the hero of the hour was truly doing well.

Phillip was disappointed by the fact Barnum wasn’t there, he had wanted to thank him, to scold him, but more than anything, he wanted to see him, possible just for the reminder that someone bright like him could still exist, that he hadn’t lost his spark.

It took Phineas two days to come around and even then he did it in the cloak of darkness, shame clinging to him.

He thought Phillip would be asleep and nearly jumped out of his skeleton when his friend reached out for him, eyes open and showing a world of blue pain “P.T, you actually came.” he said hoarsely, pushing himself into a half seated position.

If Phineas had been planning to leave, he certainly couldn’t now “How are you?”

“Better now that you are here.” Phillip replied gruffly as he settled, his breath rattling out of him, he looked up at his friend “You-are you here to stay?” he asked softly, fingers fiddling with the hem of his bandaged hand.

“Yes, I do not plan on leaving again.” Phineas said quickly, guilt flooding him at the way his companion relaxed at those words.

Phillip smiled, an odd sight with how tired he was, the bags under his eyes making him look gaunt “Good, it wasn’t the same without you.”

The guilt still hung in the air, but Phineas didn’t let it distract him, he told tales of drinking with the others, how he was going to try and fix things, to apologize for screwing up so massively, to come back to this place, his home.

Phillip relaxed back, knowing no bank would lend him the money he needed, but also knowing that when it came down to it, he’d give the man his entire fortune just to see him smile again.

It only took a well timed joke to make Phineas smile and oh, it was still as breathtaking as it ever was.

With the showman back and Phillip getting better each day, things were looking up.

Within two weeks the idea had been spun, using the money Phillip had saved, they could buy land and use a tent on it, a few small buildings would be erected around but otherwise it would be extremely cost effective.

Phillip knew they would be back, he just knew it.

The grey coat had become like a second skin to him in the time he’d been ringmaster, so enmeshed that even now, he couldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t an issue, not really.

Except Phineas kept sending him sad looks, like he wanted to see Phillip shine with color, but the former playwright knew the truth, no color other than blue would work on him, the red had drowned him out, made him look ashy, his eyes cold like a stone, the time he’d tried purple he’d looked ridiculous and everyone agreed.

So the coat stayed, warm, heavy, comfortably familiar.

Phineas was genuinely trying harder, apologizing with his actions, trying to patch things with his wife wasn’t working out, so he threw himself into work, into his second family.

The tent was glorious, all huge and stripped, an imposing sight even during the day, but lit up at night… it was like something of a dream.

Phineas was back in his crimson marching uniform, eyes gleeful as they practiced in the new space.

It was a sight, all the performers, new costumes decorating their uniqueness, wigs and ribbons, reds and purple, everyone twisting and jumping to the music, whole bodies moving to creative a cohesive wave of movement.

Phineas, there at the center, singing his heart out, hat in hand.

He could stay here forever, Phillip realized, this was an option, this was his home, his family, it was all he had and all he wanted.

So Phillip threw his coat off, the blue tunic he wore under good enough for rehearsals.

Phineas positively beamed when his junior partner joined in, stretching out his hand and dancing with the shorter man, a breathless sort of happiness filling the room as the performance carried on.

Blue was still Phillip’s color, but he rarely found himself wearing grey anymore.

Only when the weather was cold enough did he don the heavy coat, it’s usage changing to practicality over perfection.

Phillip felt like he could breathe again, smiling with Phineas, dancing with him, it felt like he was alive.

It felt like love and soon enough they would realize that.

It started with a kiss and before they knew it, Phineas had become a staple at Phillips apartment, his happiness brightening the dull rooms.

Then came the day when Phineas was an idiot and didn’t bring a coat, so, being a gentleman, Phillip had given him his coat, let the fabric fall out of his hands onto the showman's shoulders, adjusting it slightly.

It was odd.

The coat didn’t fit Phineas at all, well, physically it did, but it was too stony, his warm skin and gold flecked eyes not working with it, standing out like they just didn’t belong.  
Phineas had laughed and said it worked better on Phillip.

The good but slightly off mood carried all the way back to the former playwrights apartment, the two relaxing once inside.

Phillip busied himself making tea to warm up.

But Phineas, he was shrugging the coat off, paused when something poked him, he pulled out an envelope, unsealed and un addressed, it was an odd thing, Phillip was usually so good about sending things off as soon as he wrote them, maybe this was something delivered to him?

Whatever it was, Phineas didn’t want to pry.

“Phillip, I think you left a letter in your coat.” the ringmaster said casually, holding up the letter.

There was a thunk, then Phillip was turning, face several shades paler as he strode over, quickly taking the letter and shoving it into his pocket, the edges crumpling “Did you read it?” he asked, voice quivering.

Phineas shook his skin “No, I-” he took a breath, noting the panicked aura surrounding his partner “-what’s this letter about? You look pale dear?”

All the thoughts flew from Phillips head, the only thing remaining was one stupid sentence which he found himself blurting out “It’s a letter to my father.” he closed his eyes after he said it, regret already filling him.

That seemed to interest Phineas, his eyes lighting up slightly “Ah, are you two close?” he inquired.

It was then that Phillip realized.

Phineas didn’t know.

What he had thought was the man moving past the tabloid stories was instead innocence on the matter entirely, it felt like he was turning to ice, because once the other man knew, it would all be over, because no one would want to be with… no one would chose to be with someone like him.

“No.” Phillip bit out “He died, but we weren’t particularly close at all.” he shared.

Phineas looked saddened by that, brows drawing close “I’m sorry for that, I was close with my father and his passing was very difficult on me, how old were you when he died?”  
“He-” once again Phillip came up empty on lies, instead going with the raw truth that he hadn’t processed yet “He passed two weeks ago.”

Phineas looked gobsmacked, standing up and moving closer to the younger man “Phillip… why didn’t you say anything? I would have given you the day off, or-”

“I didn’t want the day off.” Phillip cut in, scrubbing a hand across his face “I just wanted to carry on as normal, I hadn’t even talked to my father in over a year, I didn’t want to think of him or of my life before.”

“But looking back can be helpful, it can show you how you wish to act in the future, what about your mother? If she were to die, would you do the same?” Phineas asked, looking upset.

Phillip drew a shaking hand to pinch the bridge of his nose “Yes, I would, being around her is a constant reminder.”

“But they’re your parents.” Phineas said, not seeming to understand Phillips subtle way of telling him it was personal, he actually seemed distressed by the fact that Philip would let his parents die without visiting them, like it was unfathomable to him, probably because of how close he had been with his own father.

Phillip could see in his eyes that curiosity, that worry, he knew Phineas would find out, knew it would come into the light, or a protester would bring it up, it was only a matter of time, so he decided to break his own heart.

The papers were exactly where he had left them, sitting at the bottom of his sock drawer.

Phineas stared in confusion as papers were dropped onto his lap “Phillip, what are you doing? Are you going somewhere?” he asked as his partner threw on his coat.

Phillip sighed wearily “I’m going for a walk, if you really want to know why I don’t mourn my father or talk with my mother, read the papers.” he said emotionlessly, throwing a scarf on with the outfit, blue and starry and lovely.

The confusion remained even as the young man had left, so Phineas read.

Phillip took the cold walk easily, used to the bite and chill of the air, the world was quiet and numb, a blanket of snow having fallen, his feet making muted crunches through the frozen liquid.

He hadn’t come to the lake in months.

Ice had created a thin layer over the surface, he reached down and touched it, sweeping snow of the lakes surface and staring at his reflection.

Blue eyes, grey coat, his favorite scarf, the watch ticking, if he wanted, he could do it.

Phillip stared at himself, the nights sky reflected behind him, there was no room in a world of color for a grey man.

The ice crackled under his feet as he walked across it, feet slipping every couple steps, if he fell in, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to get out, it felt like nothing, it felt like everything, his life hanging in the balance of a sheet of ice.

Everyone in the circus was following their dreams, Lettie was singing her lungs off, a star in her own right, not hidden away anymore. 

Anne and W.D were flying through the air, adored and cheered on by thousands, accepted for who they were and loved for what they did.

Phineas, god, Phineas, he had overcome so much, created where there was nothing and here he was, who he had always wanted to be, the ringmaster to a wonderful family of rogues and runaways.

They were all true to themselves and here Phillip was, kissing a married man, letting himself fall for the man, not even able to tell him how he felt, how scared he was to lose the showman, to lose his new family.

The ice seemed to seep into his shoes and he skidded for a moment.

Maybe if he’d run away when he was old enough he could have lived his dream, but maybe his dream wouldn’t have been that great? Maybe sailing on the open ocean with only the stars to keep him company would have grown lonely, or maybe his dream had changed.

The ice ended as he reached the other side, stomach filling with disappointment.

Phillip stared at his shoes for a moment, looking at the ice he left in his wake, cracked, but not enough to drop him into it’s cold depths.

The walk home felt like the walk to the gallows, daunting, there was no way he was going to be able to stay, or if he did, he would just be another attraction, the poor child with scars everywhere, some not visible, some all too visible.

But when he opened the door, the papers weren’t on the table or in Phineas’ hands, they were smoldering in the fireplace.

Phineas had his head in his hands, shoulders shaking slightly.

Phillip took his hat and coat off, leaving them on the coat rack, he closed the door, the small snap breaking the silence.

The ringmasters head jerked up, eyes red “Phillip!” he sounded surprised, standing and looking at him, noting his soggy shoes and downtrodden appearance.

Phillip shuffled closer, looking at the fire “You burned them? Why?” he asked, feeling small compared to both the man's stature and his personality.

“They deserved to be burned.” Phineas said passionately, a fire in his eyes “The way they wrote of you, like you were an animal to be gawked at, it was vile, you should have been treated with kindness and respect, not ridicule.”

Phillip felt his throat dry up “You… you’re not ashamed to know me?” he asked softly.

Phineas’ face fell, eyes seeming to well up, he touched Phillips face “Never, you did not do anything wrong, you were a child.”

The former playwright closed his eyes and remained silent, letting the words flow over him, smoothing across his soul and warming him, he wasn’t being kicked out, he wasn’t going to be mocked.

Phineas shifted backwards, letting his hands drop, a nervous energy buzzing around him as he fiddle with his fingers “I didn’t, I mean to ask, what we have been doing, you were alright with that? I wasn’t forcing you into anything?” he asked, seeming scared to hear the answer.

Phillip wanted to laugh at that, how absurd it seemed to him, but he didn’t, he answered him with a soft kiss “Never.” he echoed “I have loved every touch of yours, have dreamed of them, you have been nothing but wonderful.”

A warm look broke out across Phineas’ face, pressing another kiss onto his partners lips, then peppering kisses on his cheeks, making him laugh “I am glad, I too have spent time thinking of you and our time together.” he shared with a wink.

“Oh really?” Phillip said, fingers curling into Phineas’ shirt.

Phineas nodded, a sweet look appearing on his face “Indeed, I thought of your lips and your smile, of your laugh and your eyes, absolutely lovely.”

Phillip felt like a small part of him had shrunk, heart thudding sadly “My eyes?” he asked, thinking of all that blue, of all the misery and pain, all the nicknames his father used to call him, baby blue, ocean eyes, all of them slamming back into his mind.

“Yes.” Phineas said tenderly, cupping Phillips cheeks and looking into his eyes “They are radiant, they catch the light and sparkle like gems, and the green flecks.” he let out a soft breath of awe, eyes warm “They glow like a secret, just for me to see, special, unique, they are absolutely amazing.”

Green, Phineas saw green when he looked into Phillips eyes.

Phillip found himself smiling, then laughing a bit, kissing the mad man in red, happiness coursing through him.

They spent that night held close to each other, the words unspoken finally said aloud.

Maybe Phillips dream had changed.

Because Phineas, in his transcendent way, was everything he wanted, had given him everything he hadn’t dared to dream of before, not believing he was worthy of it.  
Phineas could make any wound hurt less, even the rawest ones.

When he saw the lake he had grinned, sitting with Phillip for hours and spinning tales of pirates and sea bound adventures, making the lake come alive, the wind less biting as they sat leaned against each other, sharing warmth.

Phillip only barely managed not to cry as he felt part of his childhood mend at his partners words.

The lake didn’t used to be sad and in truth a lake couldn’t be sad, it had always been Phillip, the sea might have been his focus, but he had just wanted escape, he’d wanted an out, so he would come to the lake and the meaning changed with the years as he became more jaded.

Phineas stripped all of that away, painting a picture with words, vast expanses of sky with nothing but open water below to temper them, waves crashing and creating white tips to the surf, a ship sailing through, tall and regal, a mermaid on the bow.

It was magical. It was insane, but Phillip loved it, like he loved the man next to him.

And later, much later, he found that the lake was much more fun when skinny dipping with your lover, when you were splashing each other with water and not dreaming of sleeping in its cold grasps.

Most of the trope knew about them, all whopping with joy when the two ringmasters had kissed before a show once.

It was like the family he’d always wanted, the care and joy, it was like nothing they had ever had before.

As he would find out, the others knew about the papers, of course they had after all the protests, but the overwhelming response was one of sadness for him and warning for Phineas were he to try anything fishy.

Phineas was more careful after reading the papers but he was not deterred or disgusted in the slightest, he still wanted Phillip, still adored him, he just made sure there was no pressure, letting Phillip take charge of things, which he found was something he quite liked.

The headlines changed, but neither payed attention to them anymore.

The circus carried on being a success, Phineas the leading man with all the right kind of charm and twinkle in his eyes, decked out in all the glorious versions of magenta you could imagine.

Phillip realized one day, putting on a loose green shirt of Phineas’, that he quite liked it, the muted tones, a yellow-y warmth within them, they fit together, the blue and green in his eyes, they weren’t cold, or oceans of sadness anymore.

They were special, that’s what Phineas had said and Phillip found himself believing that.

The grey coat was given to the less fortunate, the scarf put to the back of his closet, the red hat and scarf growing dust, even his blue shirts and vests faded out.

He wasn’t sad, he wasn’t pretending to ignore the stares that were cast his way, he had no reason too, he wore his color proudly, like a symbol to everyone around him, renewal, life, that was what people thought of when they saw it.

Maybe blue wasn’t his color, but green certainly was.


End file.
